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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27590197">take me out (and take me home)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/singsongsung/pseuds/singsongsung'>singsongsung</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonlali/pseuds/sonlali'>sonlali</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Glenn the Ghost, Post-Canon, Thanksgiving, Twyla Sands' Freckles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:22:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,509</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27590197</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/singsongsung/pseuds/singsongsung, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonlali/pseuds/sonlali</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“So - ” Alexis pokes her tongue into her cheek. “What are you going to do for Thanksgiving, Twy?”</i>
</p><p> <i>“Oh, I don’t know.” Twyla sounds more like her usual self, bright and sweet, but Alexis can’t get the shakiness that was just in Twyla’s breathing out of her head. “Maybe I’ll open the café after all. People might come in for a cup of tea after their dinners… ”</i></p><p>When Twyla’s Thanksgiving plans fall through at the last minute, Alexis flies back to Schitt’s Creek.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexis Rose/Twyla Sands, Patrick Brewer/David Rose (mentioned)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>take me out (and take me home)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/doingthemost/gifts">doingthemost</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For our friend doingthemost - happy, happy birthday!! We hope you enjoy this fluff-fest of a Thanksgiving fic.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Twyla is rinsing the conditioner out of her hair when she hears her phone ringing for the third time since she entered the shower. She sighs and shuts off the water, grabbing a towel and hastily wrapping it around her body as she reaches for her phone. She frowns at her mother’s name lighting up the screen. They just spoke last week to confirm their Thanksgiving plans, and it’s not like her mom to call so frequently.</p><p>“Mom?”</p><p>“Hi there, sauerkraut!” Her mom sounds far away, like she’s holding the phone away from her face or like that time she held a seashell to the phone because she wanted Twyla to hear the ocean.</p><p>“<em>Mom</em>,” Twyla sighs. It’s a childhood nickname, and she’s always hated it, but her mother refuses to give it up. Sure enough, her mom begins to cackle in delight at Twyla’s exasperated tone. After several seconds of laughter from her mother, Twyla finally interrupts. “Is everything okay, Mom?”</p><p>“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?”</p><p>“You called three times in a row.” Twyla tries not to sound annoyed, but she’s soaking wet and there’s still conditioner in her hair. She loves her mother, and she’s really looking forward to seeing her for Thanksgiving in two days, but Tawny Sands is a whirlwind of a woman. Twyla often needs an extra long yoga session to relax her mind after phone calls with her mom.</p><p>“Oh, I guess I did, didn’t I?” She laughs again, but doesn’t say anything else.</p><p>“I’m really looking forward to seeing you. Are you bringing the pumpkin pie?” Twyla hazards after another long pause.</p><p>“Seeing me where?” There’s shouting in the background. Twyla can’t tell if they’re happy or angry shouts. She wonders where her mom is at. “Throw one on the grill for me too, Bobby!” Twyla pulls the phone away from her ear as her mom suddenly yells.</p><p>“For Thanksgiving, Mom. Here in Schitt’s Creek?” Twyla watches as a drop of water falls from her hair in a graceful arc to the bathroom floor. She pokes at the wetness on the tiled floor with her big toe, grimacing at the chipped polish on the nail.</p><p>“Ah, yes! That’s what I was calling about! We can’t make it down to the Creek, hon. Bobby’s cousin Newt got us tickets for the Mushy Beets concert in Pine Valley. We’re headin’ out in the morning.”</p><p>“Oh.” Twyla shuts her eyes tightly. She should have known better than to get her hopes up. “Okay, that’s— I hope you have—”</p><p>“Dammit, Bobby, I told you that shirt was flammable! Listen, sauerkraut, I gotta go. You have a good Thanksgiving, okay? Talk later!”</p><p>She’s gone before Twyla can say goodbye. Twyla returns her phone to the bathroom counter and stares at her reflection in the foggy mirror. She tries out a smile and watches the way her face beams back at her, the expression familiar and comfortable. She looks happy, and so she will be happy. She can still enjoy her Thanksgiving.</p><p>Her phone rings again, and this time when she sees who’s calling, her smile is genuine.</p><p>“Hi, Alexis!”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, gorgeous,” Alexis replies, letting out a soft sigh as she twirls a pen between her fingers. Talking to Twyla always makes her feel calm, even in the midst of the kind of busy, stressful, oh-god-am-I-in-over-my-head day she’s currently having. She curls her legs up into her desk chair as she says, “Ugh, I just got off the <em>longest</em> call with Hugh Dancy’s agent, you would not even <em>believe</em>. What are you up to?”</p><p>“Um,” Twyla says, and then pauses. “Showering,” she finally says.</p><p>Alexis feels one of her brows quirk upward. “You answered your phone in the shower?” She bites her lip, even though Twyla can’t see her, and her voice comes out as more of a purr when she asks, “Did you want company?”</p><p>“No,” Twyla says, softly, her voice firm and apologetic all at once. “It wasn’t - I wasn’t - ” She makes a small, frustrated sound that has Alexis’ eyebrows drawing together and her legs dropping back to the floor. “I got out of the shower because my mom kept calling.”</p><p>“Oh,” Alexis says, carefully. Twyla talks about her family <em>all</em> the time - Alexis has a messy Sands family tree in the back of one of her notebooks that she tries to keep accurately updated - but she talks about her mom about as much as Alexis used to mention Moira. Which is to say: not very much. “How’s your mom?”</p><p>“I think she’s good.”</p><p>There’s something about Twyla’s voice that’s making Alexis’ chest feel strange, all tight and achy. “Yeah?” she prompts, gently.</p><p>“She’s just… ” Alexis can hear Twyla suck in a breath. “She’s just not coming for Thanksgiving any more, that’s all.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>Twlya sighs, and there’s a tremulous quality to it that makes Alexis press her lips together. “Her boyfriend’s cousin got them concert tickets.”</p><p>“So - ” Alexis pokes her tongue into her cheek. “What are you going to do for Thanksgiving, Twy?”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t know.” Twyla sounds more like her usual self, bright and sweet, but Alexis can’t get the shakiness that was just in Twyla’s breathing out of her head. “Maybe I’ll open the café after all. People might come in for a cup of tea after their dinners… ”</p><p>Alexis shakes her head very firmly, putting Twyla on speakerphone and setting her phone down on her desk as she scoots her chair in closer and goes to Air Canada’s website. “No way, Twy. No way. Do <em>not</em> open the café.”</p><p>“Alexis - ”</p><p>“I’m coming to have Thanksgiving with you,” Alexis cuts in, typing in her frequent flyer number as she books her ticket. “I’m booking the trip right now, I’m going to arrive on…” She glances at the top of the screen. “Friday night. Well, technically Saturday morning; I should be in Schitt’s Creek by four a.m., okay? We’ll have Thanksgiving together.”</p><p>“You don’t have to do that. It’s <em>Canadian</em> Thanksgiving, you’re probably supposed to be working, so - ”</p><p>“It’s booked!” Alexis announces, interrupting again. She takes Twyla off speakerphone and picks up her cell again, holding it against her cheek; it makes her feel like they’re closer, somehow. “I can’t wait to see you, babe.”</p><p>The joy in Twyla’s voice sounds completely genuine when she says, “I’m excited to see you, too.” She laughs. “I can’t believe you booked that so fast.”</p><p>“I’m an expert traveller, baby,” Alexis says easily, smiling. “And I miss you.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“Not now, Glenn.” Twyla groans into her pillow, but the knocking persists. When Twyla first inherited her great aunt’s house, the ghost in the attic used to wake her every night. Twyla learned through a series of trial and error that as long as she sings before bedtime, Glenn will be peaceful through the night. The knocking grows louder, and Twyla groans. “<em>Glenn!</em>”</p><p>“Um, ew, what? No! It’s me, babe! Alexis Rose!”</p><p>Twyla shoots up off the sofa so quickly that her head spins. She rubs at her eyes as she tries to reorient herself, blinking into the darkness of her living room and realizing that she must have fallen asleep on the sofa while waiting for Alexis’ arrival.</p><p>“Ugh, babe? Can you please let me in? The rain is <em>really</em> not great for my hair.” The sound of Alexis’ voice jolts Twyla into action. She trips her way out of a tangle of blankets and rushes toward the door eagerly.</p><p>She fumbles with the lock, flings open the door, and is greeted by the sight of a wet and very harried-looking Alexis, who somehow still manages to be the most beautiful person Twyla has ever seen. Despite the predawn hour and just getting off a plane, Alexis is dressed in a loose, flowery sundress and heeled booties. Her hair is wet and beginning to frizz and there’s a smudge of mascara just under her left eye. She looks tired and cranky, and Twyla wants nothing more than to take Alexis in her arms and hold her until they both fall asleep.</p><p>“Alexis!” Twyla opens the door wider and waves Alexis inside. “I’m so sorry it took me so long to open the door! I thought it was just Glenn knocking. He does that sometimes when he wants attention. Can I get you anything? You must be freezing. Let me get you some tea and a warm blanket.” Twyla spins on the spot, torn between the conflicting desires to leap into Alexis’ arms or to be a good host.</p><p>“Twy!” One of Alexis’ hands lands on her shoulder, gently turning Twyla around so they’re facing. “Slow down, I want to see your cute little face!” She boops Twyla on the nose with a sunny smile.</p><p>Twyla melts, her lips turning upwards in what she knows is a wide, dopey grin. “I’m really glad you’re here, Alexis.”</p><p>Alexis pulls her into a tight hug, and Twyla inhales the sweet, familiar scent of Alexis’ perfume, tucking her face into Alexis’ neck and allowing her body to relax. The buzzing in her brain that has been present since the phone call with her mother finally fades away, replaced by a feeling of warm contentment.</p><p>“Mm, me too, girl. We are going to have the <em>best</em> Thanksgiving ever. Promise.” Alexis’ voice is low and intimate, and she punctuates each word with a little shimmy, finishing up by pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Twyla’s head. Twyla squeezes her a little tighter, pressing her ear to Alexis’ chest and allowing the steady drumbeat of Alexis’ heart to cast any lingering worries from her mind.</p><p>“I know we will.” Twyla smiles privately and allows her eyes to shut.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Upstairs, Alexis peels off her dress and drapes it over Twyla’s bedroom door to dry before slipping into one of Twyla’s sweaters and pulling on a fuzzy, knee-high pair of socks. Sufficiently warm, she crawls into the bed next to Twyla, who’s already curled up beneath a pile of blankets, sleepy-eyed. Alexis touches her cheek fondly as she settles in, her thumb absently connecting Twyla’s freckles, drawing a heart. She slides her cool legs against Twyla’s warm ones and wraps her arm around Twyla’s waist, snuggling in close.</p><p>Twyla’s arm curls around Alexis’ waist in turn, and she tilts her head back a little, eyes half-lidded. Alexis gives her a soft kiss, lazy and lingering, and feels a burst of affection tangled with nostalgia so powerful it threatens to overwhelm her. The moment takes her back to the very first time they kissed, curled up together in a way that was ostensibly friendly, Twyla’s chin lifting, their noses brushing, both of them tentative and both of them <em>wanting.</em></p><p>Alexis smooths her hand along Twyla’s back as they pull apart. “Get some more sleep, babe,” she murmurs.</p><p>“<em>You</em> need sleep,” Twyla says, tucking her face against Alexis’ sternum. “You’ve been up all night.”</p><p>After only a beat of hesitation, Alexis says, honestly, “Worth it for this.”</p><p>Twyla presses a soft, small kiss against her collarbone. “You didn’t have to come,” she mumbles.</p><p>Alexis chooses to ignore that and says, instead, “I’m sorry about your mom, baby.”</p><p>Somehow, Twyla manages to press her body even more tightly against Alexis’, her embrace strengthened by the hand she slips between Alexis’ waist and the mattress, her leg hitching up and curling around Alexis’ thigh. “S’okay,” she says on a sigh.</p><p>Hand stealing beneath Twyla’s shirt, Alexis strokes gently along her spine as she asks, “What were you going to do? For Thanksgiving?”</p><p>“The usual stuff. Turkey, stuffing, veggies. My mom - when I was younger, she always made her famous pumpkin pie. I’ve never had anything else like it. I asked her to make it this year.”</p><p>Alexis considers this. Twyla’s breathing is slowing, evening out, but still, she whispers, “Where’d your mom get the recipe?”</p><p>With a sweet, sleepy sigh, Twyla says, “Glenn’s cousin.”</p><p>That gives Alexis pause, and she frowns faintly. “Glenn the <em>ghost</em>?” she asks, at a normal volume.</p><p>Twyla reaches upward blindly, her fingers touching Alexis’ cheek and chin before coming to rest against her lips. “Don’t <em>summon</em> him, Lex,” she says.</p><p>Alexis kisses the tips of Twyla’s fingers. “Sorry. Do you have it?” she asks, trying not to be distracted by the way Twyla’s hand drops between their bodies and ends up pressed between her own breasts. Twyla can probably feel the revving of her heart. “The recipe, I mean. Or maybe your, um… friend we were just talking about, does he have it?”</p><p>“I have it.”</p><p>“Okay. Where, babe?”</p><p>“Recipe box. Kitchen.” Twyla sighs again, and Alexis can practically feel her sinking into sleep.</p><p>“Okay,” Alexis says again, in a whisper. Very carefully, she removes her arm from around Twyla and reaches behind herself, contorting her body in a way that makes her wince as she gropes along Twyla’s nightstand until her hand finally lands on her phone. Still moving slowly, she picks it up and holds it behind Twyla’s shoulder, hoping the light from the screen won’t wake her.</p><p>It’s slow going, texting with just her left thumb, but Alexis is no stranger to sending crucial messages in less-than-ideal texting situations.</p><p>
  <em>youre going to t-giving at my bro and patrick’s right?</em>
</p><p>Stevie replies only a couple minutes later, and Alexis thanks whichever goddess is in charge of giving sweet people like Twyla good holiday experiences for the fact that Stevie’s been getting up super early to travel to Spruce Ridge, where RMG is setting up a new motel. Her answer is succinct; Alexis can just picture her grumpy little early-morning face as she typed, <em>yeah.</em></p><p>
  <em>ok awesome. can you go to the independent in spruce ridge and get me some groceries??</em>
</p><p>Seconds later, Stevie tries to call her - <em>thankfully</em>, Alexis’ phone is on silent, but she still declines the call as fast as she possibly can.</p><p><em>stevie!!!!!</em> she texts impatiently. <em>can you??</em></p><p><em>are you here?</em> is Stevie’s response, which is still not an answer.</p><p><em>yes</em> Alexis replies, <em>and i need to make a pie.</em></p><p>
  <em>does david know you’re here? and planning to come to thanksgiving?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>he will when i tell him. can you get me the groceries??</em>
</p><p>She can practically hear the heavy sigh that accompanies Stevie’s next text: <em>i guess</em>.</p><p>Alexis grins and replies, <em>yay stevie thank you!! will text a list in a couple hrs</em>.</p><p>She reaches behind herself awkwardly again to put her phone back down on Twyla’s nightstand, next to a small pile of books and a woodsy-smelling candle, and then breathes a contented sigh as she finally closes her eyes, her chin resting lightly atop Twyla’s head. It occurs to her, as she drifts off, that she’s never made a pie before and doesn’t really have the slightest clue where to begin - but then again, there’s no way it can be more difficult than smuggling two hamsters, endangered betula oycoviensis, and a Fabergé egg out of Kiev in a single suitcase.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Just before seven a.m., Twyla startles awake, her internal clock sending a jolt of adrenaline through her body. Her alarm is set every day for 5:15, so her brief nap on the sofa followed by curling up with Alexis in the very early morning has thrown her off a little. She relaxes when she remembers that the café is closed, smiling sleepily at Alexis’ face so close to hers, their heads on the same pillow. With gentle fingers, she tucks a lock of Alexis’ hair that’s fallen across her face back behind her ear.</p><p>Alexis stirs under her touch, lashes fluttering. Her eyeliner is smudged, and there’s a tiny fleck of glitter near one corner of her mouth. Twyla presses a fingertip lightly against that fleck to remove it as she murmurs, “Shhh…”</p><p>“Why’re you awake?” Alexis mumbles, without opening her eyes. Her leg wraps up around Twyla’s hip, and she nuzzles her face into Twyla’s shoulder.</p><p>Twyla strokes her hand over Alexis’ hair, which always smells spa-like, like eucalyptus and sandalwood. “Because you’re here,” she says, and is surprised, when she swallows, to find that there’s a small lump in her throat.</p><p>Alexis kisses the juncture of Twyla’s neck and shoulder before settling her head on the pillow again, sleep-hazy eyes blinking open. “Missed me, huh?” she asks, a little cheekily, but her smile is so soft that Twyla can’t help but lean in and kiss it.</p><p>“I’ll take that as a yes,” Alexis says against her mouth. They move together, Alexis shifting onto her back as Twyla leans over her, their kisses deepening, gaining greater intent. Alexis’ leg stays hitched up against Twyla’s hip, and Twyla slips a hand beneath the blankets and runs it along Alexis’ bare thigh.</p><p>Thumb skimming over Twyla’s jaw, Alexis slowly pulls away, kissing the tip of Twyla’s nose before she says, “I missed you, too, babe.”</p><p>Twyla smiles, brushing her nose against Alexis’ before dropping a kiss between her brows, which are - charmingly, in Twyla’s opinion - a little more unruly than they typically are, not yet perfectly brushed out and held in place with gel. “You did?”</p><p>“Twy,” Alexis murmurs. Her fingertips run, slowly, up and down Twyla’s back; the heat between them dissipates a little, giving way to something more tender, more delicate. “I always miss you.”</p><p>“Me too,” Twyla says quietly. They text all day every day, she’s been to New York twice now, and Alexis drove to Schitt’s Creek for an afternoon the last time she travelled to Toronto, but it always feels like the time they have together is too brief, and not enough. “I wish… we could sleep in the same bed more often.”</p><p>Alexis nods, then tilts her chin up to give Twyla a kiss. “Yeah,” she whispers.</p><p>Twyla kisses her once more before settling her body next to Alexis’ again as Alexis’ leg drops back to the mattress. She shuffles closer, and Twyla slips an arm around her, thumb stroking Alexis’ hipbone. Alexis sighs as drowsiness envelops them and presses a kiss against Twyla’s hairline.</p><p>“Stay right here, ’kay?” Alexis says through a yawn.</p><p>“Okay,” Twyla agrees, as if she could ever even consider moving away.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Twyla’s body is warm and soft, wrapping around her own in a way that makes Alexis want to tuck her nose into her favorite spot just behind Twyla’s ear where she can inhale the sweet scent of her perfume and dream of fresh fruit and sunflowers. The room is far brighter than Alexis’ last waking memory, so she guesses they must have slept another few hours. The sunlight streaming through the windows feels so good on her face, and Alexis thinks she could probably drift back into a dream, but Twyla is shifting, the warmth of her body moving away from Alexis.</p><p>Alexis whines into Twyla’s pillow in protest.</p><p>“I’m going to take a quick shower.” Twyla presses a gentle kiss to Alexis’ temple, her voice a low murmur. “You should keep sleeping. You must still be tired after being up all last night.”</p><p>“Mm, don’t go.” Alexis tugs at Twyla’s hand, but Twyla is already crawling out of bed.</p><p>“Sleep.” Twyla’s voice is stern in that way Alexis likes, so she just nods mutely as Twyla kisses her on the forehead and heads to the bathroom.</p><p>Alexis feels extremely cozy and warm, like she could easily drop back into sleep. The only problem is that her mind is racing and her body feels energized by her secret plan to give Twyla the best Thanksgiving ever. She waits until she hears the shower turn on before slipping out of bed and racing eagerly downstairs to the kitchen.</p><p>“‘Kay, so if I was a pie recipe written by a ghost, where would I be?” Alexis walks her fingertips along the countertop and pouts when the recipe doesn’t immediately jump out at her. Twyla always advises against summoning Glenn, but it couldn’t hurt just this once, right? It’s for a good cause after all.</p><p>She clears her throat and stands up straighter, tossing her hair back over a shoulder. “Um, Glenn? Hello?” Alexis isn’t actually sure what to expect. <em>How exactly does Glenn communicate anyway?</em></p><p>“Um, okay, so, Glenn? I don’t have one of those ouija board things or any, like, summoning charms or whatever. Do we need a code, like knock twice for yes and once for no?” The kitchen remains silent, and her own voice sounds slightly high-pitched and nervous to her ears. Maybe this is a mistake.</p><p>“Ugh! Mkay, so I'm looking for Twyla’s favorite pie recipe, and I actually can’t remember <em>exactly</em> what she said, but I think maybe your cousin wrote it, so maybe you know where Twyla keeps it?”</p><p>Alexis sticks her lower lip out and tosses her head back in frustration, barely restraining from stomping her feet. She begins opening cabinet doors and rifling through drawers haphazardly, looking for anything that could possibly be considered a recipe box. Alexis isn’t even sure what exactly a recipe box <em>is</em>. Is it small and delicate like a jewelry box, or a big, ugly cardboard box, or maybe a secret locked box that requires a key?</p><p>There’s a barely audible creaking noise behind her, and Alexis jumps a foot off the ground in alarm, her hand clutching at her chest. A cabinet door on the other side of the kitchen is slightly ajar. She takes a cautious step closer and peeks inside, holding her breath.</p><p>Resting innocently inside the cabinet is a small, ceramic box with slightly faded wildflowers painted along its surface. Alexis gently cracks open the lid and gasps as a single recipe card shifts almost imperceptibly in the box so that it sticks out above the other cards. Alexis pulls it out cautiously and bites back a delighted squeal when she sees, printed in neat handwriting at the top of the card, the words <em>pumpkin pie</em>.</p><p>Alexis allows herself a single happy shimmy before snapping a photo of the recipe card and shooting a text to Stevie. <em>i’ll pay u back later thx babe!</em> She sends a series of heart and kiss emojis along too for good measure before opening her text thread with David.</p><p><em>heeeeey! me and twy are coming to your place tomorrow for t-giving!<br/>
</em> <em>SO excited to see you and patrick in your adorable little cottage!<br/>
</em> <em>i was thinking about how you like watching that cute baking show</em><br/>
<em>and i thought of the sweetest little activity for you and me! we should totally bake a pie together for t-giving! stevie’s bringing the recipe stuff so don’t worry about that!<br/>
</em> <em>can’t wait! see you soon!</em></p><p>She sends all the texts in rapid-fire succession, locking her phone and putting it on silent just as she hears Twyla turn off the shower upstairs. She can deal with David’s inevitable freakout later. Alexis smiles in satisfaction at the way her plan is coming together so nicely and hurries back to Twyla’s bedroom to feign awakening from a peaceful slumber.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Despite Alexis assuring her that David is <em>totally</em> okay with their spontaneous visit, Twyla notices the way his jaw tightens slightly as he greets them upon their arrival at the cottage. Even Patrick’s welcome is a bit less friendly than usual, and Twyla is beginning to wonder if they should just go back to her house instead.</p><p>“Babe, okay, David and I are just going to go in the kitchen for a while with Stevie—” Stevie raises an eyebrow and takes a hearty swig from her wine glass. Alexis ignores her entirely and keeps her eyes locked with Twyla’s. “And you and Patrick can hang out in here and chat, mkay?” Patrick looks skeptical but says nothing, so Alexis gives Twyla a swift kiss and turns on her heel, ushering a spluttering David into his own kitchen. Stevie shrugs and follows them with an unreadable smirk.</p><p>Twyla turns to face Patrick with a hesitant smile, and his instincts as a host seem to kick in at last.</p><p>“Take a seat, Twyla, please! Would you like something to drink? I’ll get you some tea.” He flees to the kitchen before Twyla can say anything, so she sits hesitantly on the edge of the sofa and tries valiantly to ignore the raised voices coming from the kitchen.</p><p>She isn’t entirely sure what Alexis is planning to do. David and Patrick were already preparing a Thanksgiving dinner, and surely they don’t require Alexis’ assistance — Alexis in the kitchen is much more of a barrier to successful meal preparation than any actual aid anyway — but she seemed so insistent that Twyla wait out in the living room while she helps in the kitchen. Twyla knows better than to argue with Alexis when she has her mind set on something.</p><p>A few more minutes pass before Patrick returns and hands Twyla a mug of hot water with a harried expression on his face. Twyla kindly doesn’t mention the absence of a tea bag in her mug and takes a polite sip. Patrick sits stiffly on the other end of the sofa and rubs his palms across his thighs.</p><p>“Thank you for having us on such short notice, Patrick.” Twyla finally breaks the silence, and Patrick’s gaze snaps to hers instantly with a chagrined expression.</p><p>“Oh, no, no, Twyla, please. It’s our pleasure. Honestly, so glad to have you.” David’s voice rises in a disgruntled shout from the kitchen, and Patrick’s false smile stretches painfully across his face.</p><p>“Oh my <em>GOD</em>, David!” Alexis shrieks. “Just let me do it then!”</p><p>Twyla and Patrick are saved from their awkward polite grinning by Stevie’s reappearance in the living room. She flashes them both a shark-like grin and juggles three wine glasses and a fresh bottle in her arms. Wordlessly, she sets the glasses on the coffee table and gives each glass a generous pour before sliding them across the table to Twyla and Patrick.</p><p>“It’s a bit early, Ste—” Patrick frowns at the glass, but David’s voice interrupts with a wordless <em>ugh!</em> and Patrick takes a large swallow of wine with a resigned sigh.</p><p>“Um, is there anything I can do to help, Stevie?” Twyla winces at a loud crash from the kitchen.</p><p>“Nah, don’t worry about it, Twyla. Alexis is just really passionate about <em>Thanksgiving</em>. You might even say that she loves <em>Thanksgiving</em>.” Patrick gives Stevie a sharp look, but she continues eyeing Twyla shrewdly.</p><p>“Oh, well, I really love Thanksgiving, too, and I think Alexis just really wants to make sure we all have a good day.” Twyla slides a finger around the rim of her glass, trying not to question the calculating expression on Stevie’s face.</p><p>Stevie looks thoughtful for a moment and hums softly to herself. “You really do love Thanksgiving, don’t you?”</p><p>“Y-yes?” Twyla is puzzled by the question, but when Stevie’s face melts into a genuine smile, she finally feels herself relaxing and beams back at her, happy to spend this day with people she cares for deeply.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh, David, <em>no</em>!” Alexis whines when her brother reaches for the serving spoon in the bowl of dressing for the <em>third</em> time. She can’t reach his arm to swat it, so she opts for kicking him beneath the table instead. “It’s time for dessert!”</p><p>He hisses in pain and glares at her across the table, his eyes wide with vexation. “Go outside and fall into a snowbank, Alexis,” he says through a clenched jaw.</p><p>Alexis rolls her eyes - never in her <em>life</em> has David eaten so slowly. She picks up her plate and Twyla’s to walk them into the kitchen. “You’re done, right, babe?” she asks Twyla, even though she’s already stepped away from the table.</p><p>“Yeah,” Twyla says from behind her. “Everything was really delicious.”</p><p>Patrick says something about making cranberry sauce the same way as his grandma before Alexis is prevented from hearing any more due to the noise the plates and cutlery make as she sets them in the sink.</p><p>She turns the oven light on and peeks nervously through the window. The timer has two minutes left, and the pie looks… unlike Alexis’ mental image of a pumpkin pie. They didn’t have time to make the crust from scratch, since it required refrigeration overnight, which is already a flaw in her plan, and now the filling looks <em>particularly</em> orange, like it was made of carrots rather than pumpkin.</p><p>She can’t change anything now, though, so she turns off the timer, grabs David and Patrick’s admittedly seasonally cute buffalo check oven mitts, and removes the pie from the oven. She cuts it carefully into eight even pieces, sliding five of them onto plates before she goes to the fridge to hunt for the Reddi-whip. Whipped cream is something else she was supposed to make herself, according to the recipe, but Alexis knows that one of the keys to being a successful girl boss is to acknowledge when she needs a little assistance.</p><p>After giving the can a solid shake, she begins piling whipped cream high on each piece of pie, hoping to disguise some of the intense orangeness. As she’s doing so, Stevie comes into the kitchen, carrying three empty plates.</p><p>“Oh,” she says, and then immediately seems to regret it, biting down on her lower lip as she meets Alexis’ eyes. “It’s, um.” She sets the dishes down slowly, like she’s buying herself time to think. “It’s a little orange?”</p><p>Alexis looks back at her anxiously. “But it - ” She frowns at the slices that remain in the pie dish. “It probably still tastes good, right? Colour is just, like, <em>aesthetic</em>. People <em>say</em> you eat with your eyes, but you actually eat… with your mouth! So this is probably fine. Right, Stevie?”</p><p>Stevie looks at her for a moment, and then says, “Wine! We need more wine.” She grabs a bottle off the counter and hurriedly locates the opener in a drawer. “I’ll fill your glass!” she adds before she makes a quick exit from the kitchen.</p><p>“Thanks,” Alexis calls after her. Her brows knit together as she studies the plates she’s composed. They’re not exactly Insta-worthy, the whipped cream towers a bit tilted, the crust perhaps a little <em>too</em> brown - but it’s like she, herself, just wisely said. All that matters is how the pie tastes.</p><p>“Dessert is a surprise treat!” she announces as she returns to the dining table, carrying two plates.</p><p>“Oh, I can help bring those in!” Twyla says, rising halfway out of her seat.</p><p>“No, babe,” Alexis says hurriedly. She sets a plate down in front of Twyla and presses her now-free hand to Twyla’s shoulder, gently pushing her back down into her chair. She casts a beseeching glance in her brother-in-law’s direction. “Patrick can get the rest.”</p><p>David opens his mouth to say something, but Patrick touches his shoulder, just as Alexis is touching Twyla’s, the two of them in mirroring poses across the table. David picks up his wine glass and scowls at Alexis over the rim as Patrick pushes back from the table.</p><p>As a peace offering, Alexis sets the other piece of pie she’s holding in front of David before she sits down in her own chair, scooting it over so that it’s right up against Twyla’s. She’s aware that she’s staring at Twyla with an intense kind of hope, like she once would’ve looked at a salesgirl checking stock of a limited edition clutch, but she can’t help it.</p><p>Twyla blinks over at her, her smile warm but a little puzzled. “Thank you?”</p><p>“It’s your family recipe,” Alexis tells her. One of her hands has made its way onto Twyla’s thigh; the other is nervously toying with her own earring. “The one from Glenn’s cousin? That your mom makes? I made - ” David interrupts by clearing his throat so pointedly it sounds like it hurts, which makes Alexis give her eyes a lazy roll. “<em>David and I</em>,” she corrects herself. “We made it.”</p><p>“Oh,” Twyla says as Patrick returns to the table and distributes the remaining pieces of pie. Her hand covers Alexis’ on her leg, her thumb moving back and forth across Alexis’ knuckles. “Lex…”</p><p>It feels, to Alexis, like everyone and everything else fades away, like they’re not even at David and Patrick’s anymore, like nothing else in the world exists except for the two of them and the softness in Twyla’s beautiful eyes and the faint flush on her freckled cheeks, her wine-stained mouth and her hand wrapping firmly around Alexis’ fingers.</p><p>“Best Thanksgiving ever,” Alexis says very quietly, her voice nearly a whisper, as she makes a movement with her shoulders that ends up as a strange combination of a shimmy and a shrug.</p><p>Twyla leans in a little, just enough so that the tip of her nose touches the tip of Alexis’. “Thank you,” she says again, holding Alexis’ hand between both of her own now.</p><p>Alexis is contemplating closing the distance between them entirely and pressing a kiss to Twyla’s lips when a disturbing hacking sound from her right breaks the spell. She turns to see Stevie pressing a napkin to her mouth before balling it up tightly and reaching somewhat frantically for her wine glass.</p><p>“What?” Alexis asks, her eyes widening. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>“The pie,” David says. He pushes his slice, missing a bite-sized piece, as far away from himself as he can. “The pie is wrong.”</p><p>“<em>No,</em>” Alexis says morosely. “No, no - Patrick?”</p><p>Patrick is making shapes with his mouth like he’s hoping there’s a way to disengage from his taste buds. “Uh,” he says, glancing between Alexis and David. He coughs, then grimaces. “How much, uh, sugar did we put in here?”</p><p>“One and a quarter tablespoons, I think,” David says. “We followed the recipe <em>exactly</em>.”</p><p>Alexis nods fervently. “We even used the tiny little spoons!”</p><p>Twyla’s hand is on Alexis’ thigh, now, slipping between her legs, fingertips tucking between the fabric of Alexis’ tights and the chair. “Lex,” she says, with such adoration in her voice that Alexis feels a <em>teensy</em> bit better, “I’m pretty sure it’s one and one quarter <em>cups</em>.”</p><p>“Ohmygod,” Alexis says, her heart sinking all over again. “Oh my <em>god</em>. Ugh, <em>David</em>!”</p><p>“Don’t look at <em>me</em>!” he shoots back. “This was <em>your idea</em>, and <em>you</em> brought all the ingredients and messed up <em>my</em> kitchen, and I’m pretty sure <em>you</em> did the measuring!”</p><p>“You were supposed to be <em>helping</em> me!” Alexis says, feeling abruptly like she could cry, which is something that very rarely happens as a result of her spats with David.</p><p>“Hey,” Twyla interjects. Her voice is soft, but it still captures Alexis’ attention, and she gives Twyla her focus again to see that Twyla’s holding her fork, the tip of her slice of pie conspicuously absent. “I think it’s good.”</p><p>“Twy,” Alexis says on a sigh. She brushes her knuckles against Twyla’s cheek. “You don’t have to lie to me.”</p><p>“I’m not. It… needs more sugar, yes. But it’s a good pie, Lex. All things are, that’re made with…”</p><p>Twyla trails off, and Stevie interjects, her tone precise in its pointedness, “Love? Is the word you’re looking for ‘love’?”</p><p>Alexis watches as Twyla rolls her lips together, like she’s nervous. “Yeah,” Twyla says. “Yeah. Nothing can <em>really</em> taste bad when it’s made with love. And you… made this with your brother. And you did it so that - so that I could have pie. So… it’s good.”</p><p>“Twy,” Alexis says on an exhale. She looks at Twyla for a long moment, trying to find something else to say. Nothing seems quite good enough, so she just cups Twyla’s cheek in her palm, leans over, and kisses her soundly.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Twyla shifts the leftover pie to her other hand as she fumbles with her house keys to unlock the front door. She can feel the nervous energy radiating from Alexis behind her. Alexis has been uncharacteristically quiet since dessert, despite Twyla’s many attempts to fill the silence during the drive home. Once they’re inside, Twyla decides to give Alexis her space and heads into the kitchen to put away the pie. She busies herself with preparing a mug of tea for each of them before moving back out to the living room where Alexis is hovering next to the sofa.</p><p>“I’ve made tea.” Twyla sets Alexis’ mug on the coffee table and takes a seat on the sofa, adopting what she hopes is a natural and relaxed pose. She knows that Alexis sometimes needs time to think through things, and what she needs from Twyla during that time is to continue on as normally as possible. Acting like something is wrong will just upset Alexis further, so Twyla pulls out her phone and opens her favorite astrology app.</p><p>“The pie is terrible,” Alexis blurts suddenly. Twyla sets her mug and phone down on the coffee table and looks up at where Alexis has started pacing. She opens her mouth to protest, but Alexis continues. “No, don’t pretend it wasn’t. It’s really fucking awful. I just— Twy, I just wanted to do something nice for you, and you seemed so disappointed about your mom canceling.”</p><p>“It <em>was</em> very nice…” Twyla begins, but Alexis barrels on as if she can’t even hear her.</p><p>“And you do so much for me, and you make me so happy, Twyla. Like, so, <em>so</em> happy. And you mentioned the pie, and I thought if I could make you the pie… I don’t know. I just wanted you to have a good Thanksgiving — the <em>best</em> Thanksgiving — because you deserve it, Twy. You make me so happy, and I want to make you happy, too. But I fucked it up and made you eat disgusting pie, and—”</p><p>“Lex, hey! Alexis, slow down.” Twyla stands and places her hands gently on Alexis’ shoulders. “My mom is <em>not</em> a good baker.”</p><p>Alexis wrinkles her nose and shakes her head in confusion. “Um, what?”</p><p>“My mom’s pie is not good, Alexis. I don’t love it because it’s a great pie. I love it because she makes it for me, and I love her and love spending time with her. Your pie is— well, okay, it’s not good. It’s actually worse than my mom’s—”</p><p>Alexis huffs out a breath and grimaces, but Twyla continues.</p><p>“But that doesn’t matter! This has been the <em>best</em> Thanksgiving because you’re here. You came here at the last minute because you knew it would make me happy, and you gave me a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner — that we, admittedly, crashed. And you baked me a pie! You have made me so happy, Lex. Not just today, but every day.”</p><p>Alexis tugs at her earring and shifts from foot to foot restlessly. “Ugh, Twy! You don’t have to say all that. I know I didn’t—”</p><p>Twyla wraps a hand around the back of Alexis’ neck and tugs her down so their lips can meet in a slow, sweet kiss. She pulls away just far enough to whisper in the space between them, “Best Thanksgiving ever, okay?”</p><p>A slow, crooked grin twists its way onto Alexis’ face, and she takes Twyla’s hands in her own. “Twy, I, um…” Alexis’ eyes dart away and she licks her lips, a nervous expression blooming on her face. She takes a deep breath and meets Twyla’s eyes again. “Twyla, I love you. And I love being with you, and I want—” She shakes her head and sighs, rolling her eyes in apparent frustration. Twyla squeezes her hands reassuringly.</p><p>“Twyla, will you be my girlfriend? I mean, like, for real. Not like we’ve been doing for the past few months where we see each other whenever I’m in town and have, like, crazy good sex, and then I text you all the time because I miss you and don’t know how to say it. I want to take you on dates and stuff. I want— I want it all with you, Twy.” She bites her lip and gives Twyla a small, uncertain smile. “If you want it with me.”</p><p>“I want it with you, Alexis.” Twyla’s heart swells and she thinks her cheeks might split open from the force of her smile, and she’s never been happier. “I love you, Lex. Best girlfriend ever.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Alexis can’t stop the bursts of giddy giggles that keep erupting out of her any more than she can stop kissing Twyla. Her laughter gets muffled against Twyla’s lips, and then their teeth knock together when Twyla starts giggling too. She leans down to rest her forehead against Twyla’s, smiling widely, and Twyla gently disentangles their hands, guiding Alexis’ hands to her waist before lifting her own to rest them against Alexis’ cheeks.</p><p>Her touch is so gentle, like Alexis’ skin is something precious, and it makes Alexis feel unspooled. She can feel her smile softening, pulling back until it’s small and sentimental - the kind of smile she once kept so guarded, but that keeps breaking out around Twyla, shoving past all her old barriers.</p><p>“I love you,” she says, so she can hear Twyla say it back.</p><p>“I love you, too,” Twyla responds simply, tiptoeing up to kiss the corner of Alexis’ mouth. “I’ve thought about saying that… twenty different times,” she confesses.</p><p>Alexis beams again. “<em>Which</em> times?” she asks curiously, complete with a little shimmy. She doesn’t wait for Twyla to reply before she kisses the high point of Twyla’s cheekbone, the bridge of her nose, the arch of an eyebrow.</p><p>“When you got here,” Twyla says, her voice soft and breathy, her head tilting back as Alexis kisses along her jaw. Alexis plays with the top button on Twyla’s emerald-coloured blouse as Twyla adds, “Every time we hang up…”</p><p>“Even when I’m cranky because I still have work to do?” Alexis asks. She presses her body into Twyla’s, bumps one of Twyla’s legs with her knee, and Twyla takes the hint, shuffling backward until the backs of her calves hit the sofa. Alexis kisses her, following Twyla as she drops down onto the couch cushions, leaning over her before she straddles Twyla’s thighs.</p><p>“<em>Especially</em> when you’re cranky because you still have to work,” Twyla says, as Alexis finally starts undoing the buttons on her shirt, bending to press her mouth against Twyla’s newly-exposed skin, tracing lines between freckles with her tongue, lightly biting the swell of Twyla’s breast. “I just… want to make you a cup of tea. Rub your shoulders...”</p><p>Abruptly, Twyla’s hand is under Alexis’ dress, pressed between her legs, and even though Alexis is still on <em>top</em> of Twyla, she’s definitely no longer in control of the situation, thoroughly at the mercy of the slow movement of Twyla’s fingers, rubbing over Alexis’ tights and underwear. Alexis gives a soft gasp, her body tipping forward. She braces a hand against the back of the couch as Twyla says, with a look on her face that would be innocent if not for the heat in her eyes, “Make you relax. Make you come.”</p><p>“<em>Twyla</em>,” Alexis breathes, rocking her hips. “Oh my god. I - I can’t believe I bought these fucking impossible-to-tear tights,” she huffs, frustrated.</p><p>“They were a good investment,” Twyla says, tipping her head to one side, like all they’re doing is talking about the best staple pieces for their girl boss wardrobes, like the heel of her hand isn’t pressed right against Alexis’ clit, creating friction.</p><p>“No,” Alexis says. “I mean, yeah. I mean - ” She blows out her breath. “Twyla, <em>touch</em> me.”</p><p>Twyla smiles her warm, sweet, infinitely kissable smile. “I’m <em>trying</em>,” she replies on a soft laugh. “Take your tights off, Lex.”</p><p>It’s an impossible task while also straddling Twlya’s lap, so Alexis shifts to sit at Twyla’s side, tucking her thumbs into the waistband of her tights and peeling them down her legs. As she does so, Twyla tugs down the zipper at the back of her dress and kisses the ridge of Alexis’ spine. It’s so distracting that Alexis pauses in her movements for a beat, one foot still stuck in her tights, to relish the feeling of Twyla’s mouth on her skin.</p><p>As Alexis <em>finally</em> frees herself from her tights and tosses them across the living room, Twyla kisses the shell of her ear and murmurs, voice low and intoxicating, “Alexis, I love you.”</p><p>Alexis shivers, just a little, and reaches behind herself to sink her hand into Twyla’s hair, shifting her own position so that she can look into Twyla’s face. “This is my best Thanksgiving ever, too, Twy,” she says before she drops a brief, boop-esque kiss to the tip of Twyla’s nose.</p><p>Twyla’s fingers trail up and down Alexis’ back as one of her eyebrows lifts. “Better than the Thanksgiving you spent in Turks and Caicos? Because I thought you said something about all three Hanson brothers and a peacock - ”</p><p>Alexis interrupts her with a kiss, and then another, and another. With each kiss, she undoes one of the buttons that remain fastened on Twyla’s blouse. “Babe,” she says, with the kind of sincerity that always feels easy around Twyla, “Everything’s better with you.”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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